The Balance of Power
by DuskMoon15
Summary: Historically, Anastasia wasn't as sweet as most make her out to be. She was quite the troublemaker, often tripping servants for fun. Russia was never amused by this, and set out to correct Anastasia's behavior the first time he noticed it.


This is my brand new day in the light

Troubles rising up on the left and the right

I keep my eyes fixed on where I want to go, the rest will follow

And this is my prayer without ceasing, the negative releasing

And as I rise above, my burden is easing

- Superchick, 'Pure'

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

It wasn't that Anastasia didn't know the rules or didn't understand them. It was simply that she didn't feel like she needed to follow them all the time. After all, there was nothing fun to do if everyone abided by the rules every single moment of the day.

Which was why Alosie was currently face-down on the floor, the items he had been carrying scattered in front of him. The footman groaned and picked himself up. He rubbed his already bruising forehead, looking at the Grand Duchess. Not a word left his lips, but Anastasia could tell he wanted to scold her for tripping him yet again.

"I'm sorry, Alosie," she lied. "I wasn't paying enough attention to how far my foot was sticking out."

Alosie sighed and retrieved his scattered belongings. "You never do, Anastasia Nikolaevna." Without another word, he continued in the direction he had been going before he had fallen.

Suppressing a snicker, Anastasia spun on her heel and found herself confronted by the massive figure that often lurked in the background at her father's meetings. More often than not, he never said a word, but once in a while he would chip in with some idea or other, and everyone in the room would immediately agree. Anastasia didn't understand why everyone acted so afraid of him - especially Toris; he was talked so sweetly about by the towering man - when he was always smiling.

"Zdravstvuj, Ivan," Anastasia greeted. She liked saying his name. He was named after the ancient kings of Russia.

Still, there was something about him suggesting that those very kings might have been named after him.

"Dobryj dyen', Nastas," Ivan replied. His perpetual smile had been replaced with a rather serious expression. He knelt, placing one of his gloved hands on the Grand Duchess' shoulder. "You should not trip your underlings. Be kind to them."

Anastasia frowned, her brows drawing together. "You've tripped Toris before." She crossed her arms. It was true. She'd once walked into one of the meetings just in time to see the long-haired brunette trip over Ivan's outstretched foot.

"But I did not let him fall - that's the difference." This was also true; Ivan had swiftly grabbed the collar of Toris' shirt to prevent his ending up on the floor, though it did not stop the tea set the smaller man had been carrying from shattering. Moving his hand from her shoulder to her waist, Ivan scooped her up and placed her on his knee. "You know the history of your country, da?" he ventured with the barest hint of a frown touching his lips.

"Of course!" Anastasia chirped, straightening her ruffled dress. "I know all about the ancient Czars and Kings-"

Ivan shook his head. "Nyet, farther back than that." He waited patiently as the girl scoured her brain for the correct answer, his features stoic.

Suddenly Anastasia's blue eyes lit up with realization. She pulled at Ivan's sleeve to make sure she had his full attention. "You mean the Yoke of Tartar?"

"Da, and the Golden Horde as well. We lacked power, so we were oppressed. Time and time again we ended up on the ground with Golden Horde laughing or ordering us to get up. Some of those wounds have not yet healed." Ivan's fingers wandered to the creamy scarf wrapped around his neck, which the Grand Duchess had never seen him without. There was a rumor going around that it hid scars or burns, but no one had been given an opportunity to test the theory. Personally, Anastasia could not imagine Ivan without a scarf. It almost seemed to be a part of him. The tall man noticed the direction of Anastasia's gaze. He dropped his hand so that it rested on the young girl's. "Do you see any Golden Horde or Yoke of Tartar today?" he asked.

Anastasia shook her head hesitantly. Where was Ivan going with this?

"Do you know why?"

Again Anastasia shook her head.

"Because Mother Russia gained power," Ivan explained, his eyes glassing over slightly as if the distant history he was reciting were a part of his own memory. "We refused to be pushed around any longer. We would not be controlled, and today we control much land, da?"

This time, the Grand Duchess nodded enthusiastically. "Da!" she exclaimed. "Lithuania, for one. And lots of others."

"Not _that_ many, Malenkaya. But yes - Lithuania." Ivan set Anastasia back on the ground, rising. "Do you understand why I'm telling you this?"

"Nyet, Ivan. I know my history, but what does that have to do with tripping Alosie?"

Ivan actually frowned. The expression was foreign on his face and looked positively wrong to Anastasia. Ivan's was a face meant to smile, not to scowl or do anything like that. "How to phrase this...?" he mumbled, his gloved fingers tugging on the ends of his scarf. "You know Toris?" When the girl replied in the affirmative, his frown lightened considerably. "When I was younger, he was much stronger than me."

This was something Anastasia doubted. Sweet, stuttering, shy Toris stronger than the massive Ivan? It was impossibility incarnate. Anastasia put one of her hands on her hip, ready to argue, but Ivan continued before she had the chance.

"You don't believe me, do you? That is expected; not many do. But trust me, Toris was no one you wanted to pick a fight with back then. Especially not when he fought with his friend Feliks." Ivan pulled on his scarf again, loosening it to the point where a trailing white scar was visible just below his chin. He stooped so that their eyes could meet. "Today, however, I am stronger than him. He works under me, but I take care to be kind to him. I may not always be the nicest or the most friendly around him, but I would never purposely humiliate him or hurt him."

"Why? It sounds like he bullied you when you were little."

"Not at all, Nastas. He took in my little sister when I was unable to care for her."

"Then why does he work under you now?" Anastasia asked.

Something glinted in the depths of Ivan's violet eyes. He knelt once more, held up one hand with the palm facing Anastasia, and spread his fingers as wide as he could. The Grand Duchess placed her far smaller hand on Ivan's palm, and the tall man's fingers curled around hers with all the intensity of a Siberian Winter. "The balance of power shifted in my favor," he whispered, breathless for no apparent reason. "But the day could come when it shifts again, and fate turns it in Toris' favor. I do not want my friend to have a reason to dislike me any more than he already does-"

"Because then he could pay you back for his discomfort and you wouldn't be able to stop him," Anastasia finished for him. She scuffed her foot on the floor. Why had no one told her this before?

Ivan released her hand, stroking her hair affectionately. "Do you understand now?" he queried.

"Da, Vanya," Anastasia replied. She motioned for him to lean in, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Spasibo. I have to find Alosie and apologize."

"Do svidaniya, then," Ivan said. He touched where Anastasia had kissed him, a sort of amazement coloring his perpetual smile. As the Grand Duchess walked away, he remained kneeling, his fingers lingering on his cheek.

Anastasia suddenly ran back to crash into Ivan's chest. She tried her best to wrap her arms around his torso, but he was simply too big. After a moment, Ivan returned the hug, his huge arms enveloping her and crushing her against his body.

The hug itself was short and sweet. Ivan pulled away first with a soft smirk curving his lips. "You hug like tiger," he remarked. "Unexpected yet ferocious."

Anastasia poked his stomach, giggling. "You hug like bear," she replied. "Soft and fat, but very strong."

Ivan faked hurt, standing and putting one of his hands over his heart. "I am big-boned, not fat!" His smile returned when Anastasia laughed at his denial. "Now go; I'm sure Alosie has many things to do and you can find him easier if you hurry. But remember for the future: be kind to those under you. You never know when the balance of power might shift."

"I won't forget," Anastasia promised. She paused. "Who was named after who - you or the ancient kings?"

There was a measure of secrecy in Ivan's eyes as he replied almost teasingly, "You don't need to know everything all at once, Malenkaya."

"Will you tell me later?"

A deep chuckle left the tall man's mouth. He brushed Anastasia's bangs out of her eyes, momentarily revealing the scar she worked so hard to hide. "When you turn eighteen, perhaps," he conceded.

Anastasia pushed his hand away from her bangs. She pouted. "I promise not to ask before then," she said, her arms crossed high on her chest. "But in return you have to promise you'll answer honestly."

Ivan bowed steeply. "Anastasia Nikolaevna, that I can promise you."

* * *

**AN: The excecution of the Romanov family occurred in 1918. Anastasia was born in 1901.**

* * *

**Translations:**

**Zdravstvuj (zdrah-stvooy) - Hello; informal or to a younger person.**

**Dobryj dyen' (dohb-rihy dyen') - Good afternoon.**

**Nastas - A diminutive of Anastasia commonly used by her family and servants.**

**Da (dah) - Yes.**

**Nyet (n'eht) - No.**

**Malenkaya - Little one; Malenkaya is another nickname for Anastasia used by family and servants.**

**Vanya - A diminutive of Ivan.**

**Spasibo (spuh-SEE-buh) - Thank you.**

**Do svidaniya (duh svee-dah-nee-ye), - Goodbye; literally, 'Till the next meeting.'**


End file.
